


Long Shadows

by Coleridge



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:43:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coleridge/pseuds/Coleridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Cortez meets the legend. Somewhere along the way, he meets the man as well. Told in 1st-person POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First work of fanfiction... ever, actually. I'm still getting into the swing of things. Bear with me. This is meant to be a longer work about Steve Cortez and Shepard throughout ME3.

We all knew what Commander Shepard looked like. Everyone did; the man's face came up between vids for six months after Saren's attack on the Citadel. There would be some voice, not his own I guess, calling for recruits. The Alliance's poster boy. He tested well among the poll groups, I guess. You never saw a smile in those ads, just the Commander armored up and doing something heroic. Doing anything, really; there wasn't a difference between the two. He blasted away Rachni between news segments. When Blasto got done defeating Saren's half-varren clone, Shepard headbutted a Krogan for humanity. After the proper ladies on talk shows finished tutting, Shepard was there making peace between one race and another, only to fade to black in order for the women to return and gossip about which lucky heiress was secretly canoodling with humanity's hero.

Robert and I, before we shipped out to Ferris Fields, saw one big advertisement up the side of the human embassy on the Citadel. Shepard stood, legs apart, all business and calm. He held a Widow as long as a Hammerhead up to his face, a furrow in his brow. Smoke drew a line from the barrel to the leg of a Geth, or what used to be one. The Alliance banner flew behind them, and Shepard stood before it, fifty feet of legend. Robert dug his elbow into my side. “If there's one guy I'd let in our bed,” he started.

I grabbed his hand. Our rings clinked together; we hadn't gotten used to the weight by then. I laughed, “you've got some big dreams, Mr. Cortez.”

He had a wicked grin. Had a habit of giving me one, too. He squeezed my hand, winking, “hope he's a big as he is here, Mr. Cortez.”

Two years after that joke on the Citadel, Collectors swarmed on Ferris Fields. I remember the buzzing, or at least what it feels like to remember the buzzing. It had to have been a low drone then. Sound doesn't carry far enough for me to have heard it on the construction site. But to Robert, it must have been like thunder. I could only see the clouds on the horizon, dark and brown and moving against the wind. Not smoke, I thought. I don't remember getting the alert on my omni-tool. I don't know who called who first. But I remember the sound of swarms, and I remember Robert's call. “I know you, Steve. Don't make me an anchor.”

That from the man who made me keep my Kodiak grounded. I saw the Collector ship bear down on Ferris Fields. “Don't make me an anchor.” Something that size, that heavy, what else could it be?

The Alliance came late. By then, they'd long since stopped using Shepard's face. It had been swapped out for a composite, something not quite human calling for them all to band together. Hell, Shepard hadn't been quite human either. Humans stayed dead. If I knew one thing, I knew that. But the composite wasn't something _better_ than human. Just something _different_.

Alliance recruitment dropped, if the CO's frustrations showed anything. Word on the extranet was that Shepard had a new Normandy, a new crew, and a new master: Cerberus. They kept him running around saving this colony and that. Not mine. Not Robert's. Vega showed me shaky vids of Collector corpses on Horizon, most with holes in their heads. “Loco's work,” he called it. I went back to mine. The flight deck of the SSV Trafalgar had never run smoother.

Six months on, there was too little work to do. Too much time to do it in, as well. Trafalgar was dry docked, and I stood stationed on the ship that had never made it to Ferris Fields. The retrofit went smoothly. The ships' VI was helpful, even if its old pilot had to be around in order to get it to do anything. So I made more work for myself. If the guys needed something, I found it. Cigarettes, clips, parts, fish; it turned out I had a knack for procurement. Mr. Vega talked me into getting him some ryncol once. He heard from a guy, who'd heard it from a guy, that Shepard had downed a glass without so much as a blink. I've only seen one thing as green as ryncol, and that was Vega's face after he drank it. Why Vega didn't just ask Shepard if he'd ever had ryncol was beyond me. The guy was Shepard's personal guard. Or warden, depending upon who you were talking to. I had half a mind to make him take me right up to Shepard, so I could look in the face the guy who'd saved everyone except the most important. But no, not enough time. Between memories and minutiae, there was too much to do. Standing toe to toe with someone who dared come back to life without anyone else in tow would have to wait.

Until the Reapers bore through the clouds. Until the ship's VI gave itself a name and sealed the airlock as Joker lifted off. Until a bass deeper than the buzzing filled my ears and bones. Until Vega and some woman named Williams ( _the_ Williams?) stormed down my flight deck with guns in hand, and the dock opened up to show me a Vancouver in fire and swarming with things I'd only seen shadows of in nightmares. Until Commander Shepard came walking up into the ship, eyes looking at nothing but the world outside. He was older than the advertisement I remembered, but otherwise the same. Still no smile. None of us had one, but Shepard's set jaw and focused brow looked like something that was once willful made involuntary. He squared his shoulders, shorter than Vega, leaner, but seeming to take up all the space around him. I remembered Robert's joke, the weight of the ring I didn't wear anymore. He'd have been happy.

Shepard was bigger in person.


	2. Mars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just at the close of Shepard's time on Mars, Cortez gets his first glimpse of the Commander in action.

The welding torch and Traynor's worry that EDI kept audio records all but drowned out Joker's voice in my ear. A sudden “Estéban!” scared me half to death. The torch winked out and I threw the visor up. I responded, not as kindly as I could have. Shaking around a burning welding torch has that sort of effect. A little deaf from the shout, I screamed my reply. “What?!”

“Cálmate, Estéban. We're going to need you to open up the bay doors. Won't be able to bring the shuttle back in.”

“Yeah, all right.” The torch clinked against the loading bay floor as I reached over, fingertips flying across familiar panels. I paused, staring through the console before me. “Wait. Why?”

“Why what?” I could hear Vega's smirk.

“Why can't you bring the shuttle in?”

“Sorry, can't talk!”

Oh, fuck.

The Normandy's bay doors opened to show me red Mars below, rendered a blinking purple by the blue field that kept our air in the bay. I saw the sky first, the same color as everything else on the planet. Then I saw the smoke, inky and crawling up the side of the metal facility towards the clouds. I leaned forward on the console, peering out and following the plumes to their source. I saw the outline of a shuttle in the fires and smoke. My shuttle. The barrier flickered into transparency, and I saw the shuttle's white and black paint. Not my shuttle: Cerberus. The Kodiak rested nearby, its nose and sides streaked with white scratches matched by brothers on the wall of the facility. Firelight made its dents dance, and I counted them all. Each one would be at least half an hour's work. That thrilled me as much as it worried me.

Joker's voice came over the intercom. “Cortez, you see him?” It brought my focus away from the shuttle. Right, the squad.

For all of James' bulk, I saw Shepard first. The fires gave him a shadow yards long. He walked stiffly, the others watching. Blue armor, Williams, stood closest to the burning shuttle, while Vega stood triumphant beside the Kodiak. A woman in white hung like a ghost on the periphery, her skin turned blue by the barrier. She waved up at the Normandy, moving away from the flame. The barrier flickered again, and she stayed blue. An asari. I waved back, meekly. Last time I saw one of those had been on the Citadel, somebody's lifetime ago.

The asari jumped, her weapon drawn before she hit the ground. Vega followed. Shepard had never holsitered his own. I followed their aim to the Cerberus shuttle. Something black and sleek moved within the heat. Williams backed away, cautious. Not quickly enough. The black form burst out from the wreckage. It was a woman, or something close to it. I saw its hand grip Williams by the head, list the Major off of her feet and hold her there. The human resemblance was in appearance only. It paused. Everything else did as well, save Shepard. Shepard stepped forward, pistol trained on the blackened bitch. I became aware of the silence in the bay.

The creature came to life, turning and dragging Williams through the air like a toy. Shepard opened fire. Sparks burst from its skin, rounds leaving nothing but scratches behind. It drove Williams' helmeted skull into the side of the Cerberus shuttle once. Twice. A third time, and as it released and Williams sunk to the ground, I saw the cavity the impact left behind. The creature faced Shepard, rounds pinging against its head. It ran at him, perfect in form and alive with sparks.

It made four strides before one of Shepard's bullets made it falter. Shepard marched forward to meet it, each step matched with a shot. They met at the end of his gun, when Shepard pulled the trigger as its hand clawed at his neck. The round blew the creature's head back, the rest of its body following. Its hand fell limp. It crashed at Shepard's feet, barely down before the Commander climbed over it. He waved a command to his squad. Vega lifted the creature over his shoulder, bulky and crude in his grip. The Commander's hold on Ashley was anything but. He brought her up into his arms with a gentleness I thought was impossible in armor like that. For all of the weight of the Major's armor, and his own, Shepard carried her as if she weighed nothing. Helmet and shadows kept me from seeing his face, but I wondered whether it looked like mine after Robert ended the call. I'd feel shame for that later. Not then.

Vega's heavy footfalls on the loading dock were his hello. He kept his helmeted head looking forward, and jabbed the elevator console. He dropped the creature, some robot, without ceremony. The sound of its head clanking against the floor echoes throughout the bay, tuneless. The song continued when Shepard entered, his mag-boots beating a grim march. The elevator slid open behind me, and figures in white flew past: servicemen in medical garb, the closest we had to medical officers when the Normandy piloted itself out of dry dock. A stretcher unfolded and Shepard placed Williams upon it. Once his hands left her, the servicemen wheeled her into the elevator, vanishing behind the hissing door. Vega joined the noise as he removed his helmet. He met my gaze, offered a smile. Tired, but excited. “Sorry about the shuttle, Estéban. Gave it a hell of a ride, though.”

Whether the roar came from Shepard or the Normandy taking off, I'd never find out. But Shepard raised his helmet from his head and let out a breath that took as much kindness from him as it did air. Commander Shepard, straight-backed and stiff-legged, stood before me with fires on Mars behind him. I'd only ever seen the man with some ruin at his back.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen his face, but it was the first time he looked back. Shepard's green eyes fell on me. They were heavy and stern, frozen seawater kept from thawing. And curious, with an odd sort of life as they took their measure of me. I watched them trace the band on my shoulder, counting. “Lieutenant.”

Rank. I snapped to attention with the proper salute, habit over heart. Shepard nodded and waved, dismissive. “What's your name, Lieutenant?” His voice was hoarse, though no weaker for it.

“Cortez, sir. Steve Cortez.”

“What do you do?”

“Maintain the armory with Lieutenant Vega, and procurements. I'm also a pilot, Commander. Kodiak's included.”

“Good,” he replied, more acknowledgment than appraisal. He looked to Vega, and I became aware that I still stood at attention. I eased to rest, just as Vega made the opposite transition. James was a head taller than the Commander, and still Shepard seemed to tower over him. White scratches lined the edge of Shepard's collar, where the gynoid had reached for his neck. Close-cropped hair, brown with a touch of early grey and matted with sweat, stayed as still as the rest of him as he spoke to James. “Vega, you crashed my shuttle.” The words were cool, a matter of fact instead of an accusation.

Vega shrugged as much as his salute would allow. “Sounded like you needed that Cerberus shuttle down, sir.”

“And you alive.” Shepard turned back to me, nodding to the shuttles outside. “Cortez, does it look salvageable?”

I turned to look, happy to keep away from his attention. “Should be, sir. It's not the one on fire.” I chanced that joke. No laugh. “The Kodiak should still fly.”

“Good.” Same as the last one. Shepard let out another breath, softer than earlier. “Vega's going to go back out there and bring it in. Talk him through it. Seems he needs help finding the brake.”

With that, Shepard summoned the elevator and stepped in. Vega and I both watched him go. His back never loosened, nor did his shoulder droop. If anything, he looked damn ready to get a running start back out into Mars. But the doors hissed and began to close. Before they did, the seawater warmed.

Vega remained at attention. “He's gone, Mr. Vega.” The posture disappeared in an instant. Vega grinned, tossing his helmet between his hands. A kid in a candy store. The damn thing was infectious. I pointed to the shuttle, hoping the firmness of the gesture would make up for the smile. “You crashed _my_ shuttle, Mr. Vega. And you're awfully happy given Major Williams' state.”

Vega giggled, a sound I'd only heard when he received his assignment as Shepard's guard. “Yeah,” he said as he put the helmet back on. “But I crashed a shuttle and just shot up Cerberus assholes with Commander _'Loco'_ Shepard on Mars! Come on, that's a legend right there.” He strode back out towards Mars with pride, armor putting no damper on his step.

Before he passed the barrier, Vega turned back, arms open. “Shepard! On Mars!” You'd have never guessed he'd seen Earth burn a few hours earlier.


End file.
